It couldn't annoy you if you didn't care
by quidamling
Summary: Rough week is rough, and Ratchet struggles to cope.  Ironhide understands and helps distract him.


**Title:** It couldn't annoy you if you didn't care

**'Verse: **Post '07movie

**Characters:** Ratchet/Ironhide

**Summary:** Rough week is rough

**Rating/Warnings:** PG-13

**AN: ** a friend was having bad week, this was semi-bunnied as an attempt at distraction. *snugs*

* * *

Ratchet wished screaming would make him feel better like it seemed to for the humans.

Things were fine, sure, of course they were.

Jazz had been repaired and resurrected. Prowl had arrived, called by the fading spark of his mate. The tactician was anchoring his bonded, but the wear was obvious. Prowl's normal stoic stability was faltering; he was pouring strength into Jazz at the cost of his own systems. As much as the medic tried to get Prowl to come in for checks, the Nissan could be as evasive as Jazz when he wanted to be.

Their Prime was due another check, the idiot was still hiding residual injuries. Thinking; _wrongly_, Ratchet would hasten to add; that not bothering CMO with minor inconveniences made his job easier. Optimus had dove into his work more far more than usual. He let Ratchet do what he could to ease the pain of the shattered link between himself and his brother, but the semi spent inordinate amounts of time buried in his office negotiating with the humans. No, hiding, the Hummer corrected himself. It required something like an industrial rig to drag that mech from his duties to a berth for rest, let alone for a medical exam.

Ironhide was at least a minimal hassle. After the initial repairs, he had been with Captain Lennox and the Rangers doing lots of intensive training on how to fight effectively beside the Autobots. He was busy downsizing hybrid weapons for the humans, and almost as bad as Wheeljack working on a new toy.

Finally, Bumblebee was slowly recovering the use of his voice, which was a relief after so many therapies had failed. Though he'd turned to fretting like a new carrier over their sparkling with Sam. The sunny yellow mech barely got more than a few hundred feet from his charge, and would often forgo deep recharge cycles to keep scanners on the boy and on alert. And if the Camaro bolted the young human into the medbay with a sniffle or a bump one more time, both Sam _and_ Ratchet were going to kill him.

They could only give so much of themselves before they cracked. Ratchet could only give so much more…

When he heard the door open he didn't even turn from organizing his tools, he simply growled "If you're not sparking, leaking or missing a limb, you damn well better get out."

The footsteps moved closer and Ratchet bristled. A hand landed on his shoulder and he had enough. He snarled and spun, not even thinking and purely striking with all his momentum and frustration. Bright digits hit metal and Ratchet gasped; it wasn't from the pain that shot through his hand, but through his spark.

Ironhide grunted and brought his free hand up to the new crack in his optical orbit.

The CMO's optics flickered and he chirred a soft apology, reaching to stroke gentle charge over the damaged plating.

'Hide just blinked a few times and refocused on the medic, but he didn't say anything. He just let his mate brush the thin trail of energon from his temple.

"Frag. I'm sorry, 'Hide," Ratchet mumbled softly, turning away to grab a microwelder. He was stopped by the strong, gray hand still clamped onto his shoulder. "Dammit, I didn't realize it was you. So let me fix that before…"

"It's nothing, Ratch," the weapons specialist rumbled, wrapping his other hand around the Hummer's waist.

"Ironhide!" Ratchet squirmed and fought being tugged to his mate's chest. "It's not nothing." His spark pounded frantically. "It's one more damn thing I need to do. Another-" he made a frustrated trill and stopped, letting his brow hit the TopKick's shoulder.

'Hide pet his back, pulsing warm comfort through their bond. "Another draw on your reserves, medic," the black mech finished for him. Growling softly, he rested his cheekplate on Ratchet's helm. "You expect a lot of yourself."

"But I have to."

"And we ask a lot of you."

"You're… all a bunch of morons that can't keep your afts or your acts together."

Ironhide felt the gentle amusement from his medic, and chuckled. "And they'll have to deal without you for a few hours. You're mine."

Ratchet looked up and let his mate guide him to the door. "Do I get to choose how?"

"Within reason," the old Guard replied.

"Mmm. Hot wash, wax…?" the CMO trailed off, nuzzling at 'Hide's good temple.

"Holoforms?"

"If that makes it easier," Ratchet purred.

"For you, mech, anything," Ironhide growled, squeezing Ratch's waist and elbowing the lock of the medbay as they made their way out.


End file.
